Different But Alike
by Nazmuko
Summary: After almost 40 years of marriage, Sam buries her husband. One of the guests in the funeral has more in common with the deceased than others. An unusual bond is formed. Sam/Jack romance, Sam/Jonathan (Jack's clone) friendship. Future!fic.


**Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters and settings are property of their lawful owners. This story is written for entertainment purposes only and no profit is made. No copyright infringement intended.

**Spoilers:** Major ones for Fragile Balace (S07E03) but small ones throughout the series.

**Warnings:** Character death, tissue warning

**Timeline:** Sam & Jack got married between seasons 8 and 9. This story takes place 40 years later. Sam is around 75, Jonathan around 55 and Jack was little over 90 when he passed away. This story is based on assumption that the Stargate program is still a secret, 40 years later.

**Summary:** After almost 40 years of marriage, Sam buries her husband. One of the guests in the funeral has more in common with the deceased than others. An unusual bond is formed. Sam/Jack romance, Sam/Jonathan (Jack's clone) friendship.

**A/N:** I have a thing for future!fics. I've been working on a sequel to Parking Spots and Shampoo Bottles so I've been thinking about clones a lot lately. Then one day the idea popped into my head that what happens when the original dies of old age. I couldn't shake the thought so I had to write it. _This story is NOT part of the Parking Spots universe, only plays with the same subject._

This starts in Jack's funeral so I have to warn you that it's very sad in some places but there's also a sense of peace in it.

I really love the narrator POV in this one but it's very different from how I usually write. It gives a sort of distance to the events of the story but at the same time an almost patronizing direct view inside Sam's head.

* * *

**Different But Alike**

You know he's there. It's been 40 years since you saw him but you know he's there, there's no way he would miss the ceremony. You don't see him but you can sense his presence somewhere in the crowd.

The room is full of silent sobs and the sounds of tissues wiping wet cheeks and being folded back into pockets. There are grown men crying because they lost the best man they ever served with, no matter how long ago that was. There are friends and family members as well, lots of them, and you're sure you don't know more than half of them by name.

Daniel is a mess next to you. He's clutching your hand, presumably to comfort you but you think you're the stronger one right now. You're convinced he doesn't even know he's crying but the tears run down his cheeks like two rivers, wetting the collar of his dress shirt. Teal'c is calm and collected as always on your right side but you can sense the sadness drifting from him, like an aura surrounding his stoic being.

But inside _you_ there's only calmness and your eyes are dry. You cried a lot this past year, first alone when you realized he was starting to slip away and then with him when he realized the same thing. But now that he's gone, there are no more tears in you, only peace. You knew from the very beginning that he would leave before you. That doesn't mean you don't miss him but it does give a sort of perspective to everything. You had many wonderful years together. 39 years, 11 months and 12 days.

Today would have been your 40th wedding anniversary. Jack chose the day of his funeral himself when he knew he was running out of time.

"_You're getting old, Carter. The less dates you need to remember the better."_

His lips didn't curl all the way to that familiar grin but it was close enough that you got the meaning.

In the last year he started calling you Carter again, something he hadn't done for over 35 years. You probably should have felt offended but you didn't. It felt like things were making a full circle somehow. It was Carter he fell in love with all those years ago and it felt fitting that he would come back to the same name when it was time to let you go.

It gave you strength as well, more than you would have believed. Carter was the name he called the soldier and that helped you go on when some days you felt like you had run out of energy reserves.

There were days when he didn't remember much, didn't recognize anyone else, but he always knew who you were. Towards the end there were moments, days, when he didn't even know your name, but he never forgot you were his wife. And even in the very end there were moments of lucidity. You know how important those were to him. He always feared that he would become a vegetable, that he would slip away from this reality completely but he never did.

You had so many conversation the last year, deep and meaningful. You know he didn't have any regrets the moment he died, that he was at peace with everything he had done in his life. You know you said everything you wanted to say, told every secret, whispered every apology, did your very best to make him understand how much you loved him.

The last thing he heard was your whispered "I love you", and you can't help smiling when you remember his last words were "Ditto, Carter." The words were soft and his voice raspy and he had to pause in the middle to draw in a shaky breath but none the less. A full circle, in so many ways.

It was his time to go and he accepted it gladly. The least you can do is accept it as well.

You already miss his bad jokes and the way his eyes spoke even when his lips were too tired to form the words. The house feels empty now that he's gone, even with all the friends and family staying over. You still find yourself whispering "goodnight" right before you close your eyes and "good morning" when you open them, even when there's no one there to hear.

He died in his own bed. That's the way he wanted to go. You hired an army of nurses to take care of him the last two months but he stayed at home, in his own bed where you slept with him every night. You're not sure if you should burn the bed now or cling to it like the last piece of memory. For some reason you can't sleep anywhere else. You tried the couch and the guest room but you couldn't close your eyes for longer than five minutes.

You'll make some decisions tonight once everyone leaves. You know Cassie and Daniel will try to linger but you made it clear you want to be alone tonight. There's too much on your mind.

* * *

As you stand by the grave alone, you know he's there somewhere. You still haven't seen him but you can feel his eyes on you and finally decide to let him know.

"I know you're there," you say out loud and there are five seconds of silence where you start to question your sanity and think that maybe you imagined it after all, but then there are footsteps on the grass behind you. You keep your eyes on the coffin but from the corner of your eye you see him walking to you.

He stops on your right side, a few inches between your elbows, and puts a single rose on the coffin. Then he pulls a bottle of Guinness from his back pocket, lowers it in the middle of the sea of flowers on the coffin like it belongs there, and you can't help laughing.

He reaches to take your hand and you take a deep breath before you turn to look at him.

"I'm sorry, Carter," he whispers softly and you smile at him. You want to ask him to call you Sam instead because Carter reminds you of Jack so much it physically hurts to hear the word leave his lips. But he's grieving as well and you don't feel like you have the right to demand anything from him today.

It's like seeing a ghost. He looks exactly like Jack did they day you married him. You know the man standing in front of you is a few years older than Jack was that day but you also know he has lived an easier life and you can't see the years so clearly on his face. But the eyes are the same, so is the shade of gray in his hair, and your hands are just itching to run your fingers through it but you know you can't.

"I'm sorry, too, Jonathan," you whisper and he nods. You can only imagine what it feels like, to know that the person lying in the coffin is _you_ in so many ways. Fifty years of shared memories and an identical DNA. To stand on the edge of your own grave, that must feel weird.

He nods. There's so much you want to say and at the same time nothing at all.

"Will you come to the wake?" you ask even though you know the answer.

"Would raise too many questions," he answers and you nod. There's no way you could explain his identity without telling the truth and truth is not an option. He looks _exactly_ like Jack. Not almost the same, no distant resemblance, exactly the same.

"I told them I'll kick them out at five o'clock. You can come at six if you want. I'm sure there will be some beer left."

"Wouldn't that ruin the purpose of being alone?"

"I don't want their pity or kind words and I don't have the energy to comfort them in their sorrow. I have nothing against company."

"We'll see."

"Six o'clock. Do you know the address?"

You haven't heard from Jonathan since Jack dropped him off at the high school over forty years ago but somehow you have a hunch he's kept an eye on you, on all of the old SG-1.

"I do. But no promises."

"Of course not." You're still holding hands and you pull him closer for a brief hug before you let go. "It's good to see you, Jonathan." You don't need to say the part about wishing the circumstances were different because you know you never would have seen him if it wasn't for this.

You don't know if he'll come tonight or not. He looks like your husband but you can't read him, not like you read Jack. But you think there's a fundamental part that's simply O'Neill, something that even the decades on different paths can't wipe away, and you think there's enough curiosity in there that he can't stay away.

* * *

It's half past six when you step out the back door with two bottles of beer. You haven't seen his car or heard him coming, but your gut tells you he's there. He's sitting in one of the deck chairs, staring into the backyard, but he extends his hand to take the beer as soon as you step closer. There's a simple golden band in his ring finger and you're glad he found happiness with someone.

"I see you got married," you state and sit down in the chair next to his. He can take it as a statement or a conversation opener, it doesn't really matter, you just wanted to acknowledge the fact that you noticed.

"And divorced," he says and takes a sip of his beer. You look at your own hand and the diamond ring that sparkles there and realize it was a silly thing to assume someone isn't alone just because they have a ring.

"How long?"

"Married for 22 years, divorced for five. Two beautiful children, boy and a girl. They're all grown up now. We never managed to get our balance when the kids left home. We realized there was very little in common anymore."

You never had kids. It wasn't a conscious decision, really, it just happened. It never felt like a great tragedy to you. You had Cassie and she got pregnant around the same time you and Jack were finally living in the same city so there was plenty of babysitting and dirty diapers in your lives even without a kid of your own.

"You still keep in touch?" you ask Jonathan because for some reason you're intrigued by this nameless woman he decided to share his life with.

"Yeah," he sighs and takes another gulp of beer. "We separated as friends. We never fought, not during or after our marriage. That might have been part of the problem."

"We fought all the time," you find yourself saying and Jonathan raises his eyebrows. "Oh, not big fights. No flying plates or coffee cups. And we _did_ learn to compromise at some point. But we never stopped fighting about stupid little things. I guess it became more of a hobby at some point."

He nods and you sense that he doesn't want to talk about his marriage anymore, or yours. You sit in silence and sip your beers for a long time, the light around you slowly fading as the day turns to dusk. You can't help thinking that this day should have been different. You're not bitter, not really. A little sad perhaps, feeling empty and a bit lost, to be honest. You always knew he would be the first to leave, but you never stopped to think what you would do afterward. Where do you go when the circle closes?

"Today would have been our fortieth wedding anniversary," you find yourself confessing even though somehow you sense that Jonathan already knows. Instead of answering, he pulls a bottle of the most expensive champagne you've ever seen out of his backpack.

"I know. And I thought beer isn't the right drink for such a big day."

But you know if you hadn't mentioned it, he never would have given you the bottle. There's a common imbalance between the two of you, how you seem to sense what the other one wants but aren't quite sure enough to actually follow through with your gut feeling. There's warmth and distance at the same time and it's more comforting than you ever would have imagined.

The bottle is still cool but not ice cold so you thank him with a smile and a nod and take it inside, to the freezer, before you join him outside again.

You chat about the weather and hockey results while you wait for the wine to chill. He doesn't ask about Cassie or Daniel or Teal'c and you don't mention them, either. You're sure he's kept his eye on everyone but you also know he's kept his distance and there's a reason for that.

You move inside when the wine is cold and you pull out the finest champagne glasses you own. They're decorated with real gold, a wedding gift from a relative whose name you already forgot. Jonathan raises his eyebrows slightly and you know he connects the dots but he nods his approval. You open the bottle and fill the glasses, not halfway like you would in a fancy party but to the rim because goddammit you buried your husband on your wedding day and expensive or not you're going to finish that bottle today.

You don't say anything when you clink the glasses together. _Happy anniversary_, would feel phony because there's not much happiness about this day. But you know you're both thinking something along the same lines, a gratefulness about the years you got to share with Jack.

A couple of hours later the bottle is empty and you have learned that the mysterious woman is named Melissa and the kids are Jenny and Alex. You can see the love in his eyes when he talks about them, any of them. You're both a little broken but not shattered, mourning for a lost love but grateful for the good years that happened.

You're quiet most of the time, staring at the wall or into the fire you got started when the evening got a little chilly, and every now and then one of you says something out of the blue, shares a random little memory or describes a picture from a family album.

He walks you up the stairs and into your bedroom when the time comes, because you're a little tipsy and the stairs are hard for you on a good day. There's nothing seriously wrong about your body, no busted knees like Jack had, just a little ache here and pain there, enough to slow you down but not enough to stop you. Jack always said nothing will stop you. He might have been right.

"Goodnight," you whisper to Jonathan as you close the door of your bedroom and leave him standing in the hallway. It feels both right and wrong to say the words to a person instead of thin air. You don't need to ask if he's staying, you know he'll be there in the morning.

* * *

"Do you know how to drive that?" you ask when you pull away the tarp that covered your motorbike.

"Of course," Jonathan says.

"How long do you have?"

"As long as you need me," he says and you wonder if you should feel guilty about it but you don't, not really. Because you sense that he needs you as much as you need him.

"You don't need to stay for my sake," you say anyway because that's the right thing to say. And because you mean it, too.

"In that case I'm staying for mine," he surprises you with the truth but the shock melts into a smile on your face in a matter of seconds.

"The cabin," you simply say and nod towards the motorbike. He opens his mouth to argue but stops when you tilt your head to the side a little and narrow your eyes, daring him to make a comment about your age. Yes, you're a little too close to eighty to actually _drive_ that thing but that doesn't mean you can't sit on it and let him drive.

"I'm not a young boy anymore," he says instead and you recognize that he's once again sacrificing his own dignity so you can keep yours. "We need to take a lot of breaks. It's gonna take a few days to get there."

"Then we should get going already."

* * *

He doesn't leave the cabin and neither do you. Slowly the master bedroom and the guest room get renamed as his and your rooms and the walls get paintings and decorations, little signs that you're not just visiting anymore.

The days are filled with fishing, walks around the lake and quiet conversations. You never talk loud at the cabin, both afraid to break the spell around it. The days turn to weeks and eventually people find out that you're not alone at the cabin.

Daniel is worried, Teal'c is careful in his words, and Cassie downright threatens to get you locked into an institution. But you haven't lost your touch with reality like they fear. You are aware that the man you're living with is not Jack. He looks the same but they're very different in some ways. And very alike in others but that doesn't mean you can't tell the difference.

Jonathan's sense of humor is less sarcastic than Jack's and there's a sense of darkness in him. Or maybe it's the same darkness Jack had in him but he hid his behind the jokes and dry humor. With Jonathan everything is a lot closer to surface, both the good and the bad.

Jonathan is not a surrogate to you any more than you are to him. He doesn't share the story about his failed marriage with others and you feel like you don't have the right to tell it either, so your friends keep living with the false assumptions about the state of your relationship. Fact is that you're both still grieving, both still in love with people you'll never get back.

You both have long phone calls, you with your friends and Jonathan with his children, but you don't leave the cabin because inside those walls things are simple, outside it all gets a little confusing.

You don't know what he tells his family about where he is and with whom.

_I'm staying with the woman I used to be in love with back when I was 40 years older, before my mind got copied and thrown into a teenager body_.

There are times when the truth is simply not a good option.

You want to tell him he can invite his kids to the cabin if he wants but you're not entirely sure yet if that would be a good thing or not. You want to meet them but you're not sure if you want them to meet you. You know it's difficult for outsiders to understand the relationship you two share. You could be introduced as Jonathan's stepmother but there's nothing motherly about your feelings or actions towards him. If anything, you feel like a young woman compared to him.

His body is 20 years younger than yours but his head has gone through more than 90 years, just like Jack's, with the exception that Jack was retired for the last 30 of those. And suddenly you're not so surprised about the darkness in him anymore, not surprised at all about the weariness in his dark eyes. He's lived and worked for 90 years and he'll probably have more than 40 left. He's going to outlive you and despite the fact that there's nothing romantic between the two of you, you know a part of him will die with you when the day comes.

As much as others wonder and speculate about your relationship, the boundaries have always been clear to you. You're not lovers and you never will be. You sleep in separate bedrooms, have your own bathrooms and rarely even touch. You both still wear your wedding rings to show that your hearts belong to someone else.

There's affection between you two, camaraderie, trust that comes from knowing the other one for a long time. He's not yours and your not his but in a way you both belong to the cabin. You are two friends and strangers living in a house you both love.

The same combination of warmth and distance you felt on the day of the funeral is still there months later and you know that's how it will always be. You often talk by the fire at nighttime, about history and future and politics and sports. You talk about family and friends and share stories and secrets. And there are things you don't share with words, the glances and wordless gestures that come from way back, from years that weren't his but that you shared. There's warmth and closeness yet there are boundaries as well even though the others fail to see those.

Not lovers, no, but partners, without a doubt.

~The End~

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading. Please tell me what you think, feedback is always appreciated.

Oh, and I got the idea for title when I played with the thought that Sam has more in common with Jonathan than she would have thought. It also refers to the similarities and differences between Jack and Jonathan.


End file.
